I Wish
by raynietheelf
Summary: The Hound drinks and ponders his feelings as he watches the prince dance with her.


Hey, guys. Okay so I was driving around and the song I Wish by One Direction came on. I know 1D and the Hound are quite the contradiction, but that's what inspired this short fic. It'll be a one shot, because I can't write actual stories worth shit.

-Raynie

Sandor watched his Prince and his little bird parade around the dance floor. She was smiling so wide, he thought her cheeks would split. The Prince looked handsome as ever, his golden crown complimenting the golden hair of the Lannisters. He twirled Sansa with grace, her red hair catching the light. From where he was sitting, it almost looked like Sansa was on fire. She looked so happy.

Sandor snorted into his cup of wine. Apparently, she'd forgotten that Joffrey had just ordered her pet wolf dead, but there she was. Prancing around gaily. She had no idea what Joffrey was even capable of. Sandor did, of course. You can't be someone's sworn shield without knowing every intimate detail about their lives. He'd stood witness to the atrocities that Joffrey had committed, even done them under the orders of the boy. Reaching for the flagon, Sandor broodingly filled his wine cup again.

What did the girl see in Joffrey anyway? Sure he was handsome, he had inherited his Uncle Jaime's looks after all, but he was also a fool and a craven. A cruel one at that. He hid behind his mothers skirts and Sandor's sword any time he was threatened, then lashed out violently when the threat was gone. He didn't know how to keep himself safe, let alone keep a woman safe. Yet Sansa chose to be happy with this boy she knew so little about.

Ever since that moment on the King's road, where Sansa had declared Sir Illyn more frightening than the Hound, Sandor had found himself drawn to her. From what he'd seen of her, he knew she wasn't stupid. She chirped and twittered all the right things, something that women who grew up in the castle sometimes couldn't do. She knew the right thing to say in any occasion. _No, the little bird would survive them all, _he mused. As he gulped his wine, he watched the dancing couple.

Joffrey twirled her around, his hands around Sansa's waist. Without warning, Sandor felt a twinge of anger. This boy could only keep up the princely charade for a short while. Sansa would be heartbroken to find out that her prince wasn't the gallant knight that she had imagined.

Then again, neither was Sandor. She'd looked so scared when he confronted her in the corridor, refusing even to look him in the face. This girl, who lived a life of fairy tales and songs, would have a rude awakening when Joffrey showed his true colors. For some reason, at that thought, Sandor felt sadness. Sadness for the girl that could not even look him in the face.

He had no idea what had brought along these feelings. Whenever he was sure no one was looking, Sandor would glance at the girl at his masters side. He memorized her face, imagined what it would look like underneath him. When he was alone in his chambers, with just his hand, Sandor would think of her.

_Gods, this wine is going to my head. _

At the tourney, when he defeated his brother, she had cheered as hard for him as she had for the knight of flowers. That enough was to make Sandor almost weep. But, instead of being able to crown her the queen of love and beauty, Sandor had ran back to his room, tail tucked, only to drown his sorrows in wine. Always wine.

She was too far above his station. Maybe if he was a handsome lord, she would take the time to look at him. Maybe even smile. Hell, maybe, as he rode, she would give him her hair ribbon to wear as a token he jousted against other handsome lords.

But Sandor was not a lord. He wasn't even a knight. He wasn't even handsome. He had felt her fear as she was forced to look at his burns. No woman would ever look at them with joy. Sandor didn't care about other women though. He wanted Sansa.

Watching them, Sansa's cluelessness was starting to break Sandor's heart. He wished that _he _were Joffrey, instead of himself. That way, she'd look at him without fear. He absentmindedly touched his ruined cheek. If he were Joffrey, he would never be cruel to her. He would love her, as he did now, and treat her like the lady that she was. He would buy her pretty things just to hear her chirp to him how much she loved it. He would give the world to her.

"HEY, DOG!" Joffrey's stupid voice boomed across the room. He came striding to where Sandor sat. "My lady is tired. Take her to her room!" Sandor could see Sansa's disgust in her eyes. Of course. Why would anyone ever want him? Without a word, he stood up unsteadily and marched off in the direction of his room.

"You're going the wrong way, my lord," She cheeped. He whipped around, causing his head to spin. _Why the fuck did I drink so much?_

"I am no _lord,"_ he growled. She flinched away from him. Sandor regretted being so harsh with her. He hated seeing that fear in her eyes, but what else did he expect to see? Love? _As if, you old fool. Look at her. Highborn. Beautiful. Fit to marry a king. Not the king's dog._

They resumed their walk in the right direction as he tried to think of a way to start a conversation. Sansa floated behind him, walking daintily like a lady was taught. Everything she did was dainty. Too dainty to handle someone as rough as him.

"Thank you, ser." Sandor turned his head in surprise.

"For what?" he growled.

"You saved Ser Loras from your brother. I bet he is grateful. I know I am. I don't think I ever thanked you for it, especially after-" Her voice faltered.

"After I scared you, girl?" He sneered. Gods, he could be so _mean_ when he wanted to. "Well I didn't do it for him. I didn't think it would be proper for a lady to see too much death at her first tourney." He reached for the door behind her, his hand grazing her waist. This time she did not shrink away.

"You don't scare me," She whispered. Her hand touched his. Sandor merely stared, in shock. She was touching him. _She was touching him. _Never in his dreams did he think she would be the one to reach out to him first. She looked him in the face. Sandor held his breath.

Sansa smiled. Gods, she was beautiful. And she was smiling. At him. Sansa Stark was smiling at Sandor Clegane, the Hound of the prince. Still smiling, she turned and closed the door, leaving behind a shocked Hound. Later that night, when Sandor laid in bed, gasping after he finished, he could only smile. When she looked at him, before she smiled. He didn't see fear. He didn't see disgust. No, when Sansa Stark smiled at Sandor, he'd seen joy.

He closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Review! I can't get better unless someone tells me what to fix! J


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